Lack of Common Sense
by PhoenixDiamond
Summary: Bagheera wanders into a denser part of the jungle to discover Shere Khan injured. Any sensible animal would know best to leave the tiger to his fate. It would serve the cattle killing, human murderer right after all. But since when has Bagheera ever known to be sensible?
**Title:** Lack of Common Sense

 **Disclaimer:** All Jungle Book characters and settings belong to Rudyard Kipling, Walt Disney Productions and associates. I only own the one-shot's plot. Therefore, I own nada and make nada.

 **Summary:** Bagheera wanders into a denser part of the jungle to discover Shere Khan injured by man's weapons. Any sensible animal would know best to leave the tiger to his fate. It would serve the cattle killing, human murderer right after all. But since when has Bagheera ever been known to be sensible?

 **Pairings:** Bagheera/Shere Khan

 **Rating:** M.

 **Warnings:** Ignores epilogue, slash, mention violence, slight humor, eventual sexual intercourse.

 **Author's Rant:** This is so unbelievably out of left field for me that I. . . I can't even. Just give it a chance will ya? If even one person decides to give the plot a try, I'll be forever grateful. Aside from that, I really need the practice to write. Please enjoy!

 **Side Notes:** Yes, I'm very much aware of the difference between their anatomies, but eh, this is fanfiction. Since when does love discriminate anyway, right?

* * *

 **Lack of Common Sense**

* * *

The deafening sound of gunshots could be heard crackling across the jungle. Most of the creatures knew well enough to steer clear of when humans ventured into the forest for whatever greedy purposes they had in store. Hunting for food, growing it or chopping down trees to make room for their kind. There was only so much jungle to be spared these days.

Less hunting grounds, fewer neutral bases for carnivores and herbivores to communicate and even less trees to seek refuge in.

Bagheera didn't think Man was here for any of the usual.

The whole jungle shook from the real reason: Shere Khan no doubt. The stubborn tiger was a nuisance, disturbing the peace to satisfy his own prideful thirst for sovereignty. Bagheera crossed his paws beneath his muzzle, allowing his senses to catch every sound and smell. The jungle was alive with fear and anxiety. He's seen birds frightened from their nests by the thunderous commotion, monkeys screech as they fled to safer grounds and moles startled from their burrows.

This madness was absurd. All for nothing. Pure nothingness. Didn't that fool tiger know that the humans would leave the jungle be and only come for what they wanted? No amount of killing them would solve a thing. It would only serve to anger them, thus putting the jungle residents in danger.

"Yo' Baghee, what's with all the ruckcus? A bear can't catch nap here or there with all these monkey's raising a fuss!"

The panther spared Baloo a curt nod as the large bear wiggled his way through the thick brush and lowered at the base of the tree Bagheera was perched in.

"Shere Khan," Bagheera said edgily, seeming as the mere name was enough of an answer.

"Gah, that idiot cat's at it again? What did he do this time?"

"Hard to say," Bagheera mumbled, eyes focused directly at the sight of the noise. "I can only guess, same as you."

"Ya can never know with ole stripes. He coulda killed a cow, mobbed a village, ransacked a group of humans. . ." Baloo stopped digging beneath his pit, sniffed his claw, and then shrugged. "Hope he didn't go out and eat another human. Last thing we need is a horde of Man out for blood."

The panther could concur to that wholeheartedly. It's an event uncommon in the jungle, but for those few times it's happened, the massacres were enormous. The losses incalculable. He above all knew too well the wrath and grudges Man carried when crossed. For whatever crimes Shere Khan committed, Bagheera could only pray it wasn't something that would come to haunt the animals later.

Baloo gives a long, growling yawn, smacking his chops. "Anyway, let's head outta here Baghee. If there's a blood parade goin' down, I ain't tryin' to get my head mounted on anybody's wall."

"Right." Bagheera steadily rises, narrowing his eyes towards the horizon. The shots seem to go further away. One can only hope Shere Khan has the sense and honor to lead his pursuers away from the innocent. No point in dragging in the rest of the jungle down with him. With that in mind, Bagheera turns and leaps to the next branch, trekking to safer grounds.

* * *

The Council Rock Elders were assembled two days later when a beta scout arrived bearing news from the west. It was so haunting to hear the young, tired wolf galloping towards the wolf elders, wide eyed and frazzled. Mere gossip became rumors and those rumors were so detailed, it demanded to be investigated.

Shere Khan the terrorizing, self-proclaimed ruler of the jungle . . . was dead. He who was the lone surviving burden of the first creature to murder Man was gone. The one marked for eternity for his ancestor's crime. Even hearing it for himself, the impossible was too impossible for Bagheera to imagine. As much as the panther loathe the tiger's ways, not even he can deny that Shere Khan is the strongest of them all.

The shock was too much to settle. Bagheera laid in his tree for two days after that the news, internally contemplating. It was . . . surreal to say the least. He wasn't happy. He wasn't relieved. He wasn't glad.

He was . . . disappointed in a sense. Shere Khan was a regal creature, someone whose presence called for respect and submission. His death didn't sit right with Bagheera. While others could go about their daily lives, smiling, happy to not have to check their backs for hidden stripes and sun baked fur, Bagheera couldn't bring himself to believe it to be true. The young wolf scout swore to the Gods that he saw the tiger a mangled, bloody ruin, left to perish by the Man he angered.

Bagheera couldn't stand it anymore. His nerves were too frazzled. To hear that Shere Khan's been killed bore self-examining. Perhaps if he saw for himself that the tiger had been put down, only then could he dare believe that the impossible became possible.

* * *

By midday, Bagheera knew when he'd crossed into the area of Shere's Khan supposed demise. Even assuming he'd be dead, no animal dared to come within miles of this place.

Except Bagheera. His territory expanded just as far as Shere Khan's, so fear of encountering a fellow panther were minimum. He's the only one nimble and stealthy enough to go in unnoticed and leave the same way.

Bagheera sniffed at the air, lips peeling back at the stink of waning gunpowder. Thin trees were chopped and slashed where the mud dried deep human prints. Bagheera propelled himself to the next tree, concealing himself in the shadows.

It would be the last tree he trekked on. There were no more near where the jungle seemed to open in a wide span of empty space. But in the center of it all, where the grass was stained red, laid Shere Khan in a clearing.

Bagheera sucked in deeply. So, it was true then. The once mighty Shere Khan was nothing more than a corpse. The enormous tiger laid on his side, head tucked in his paws, dark red blood staining his once gleaming fur. A victim to his own crimes.

The panther bowed his head, eyes closed at the sight. If only . . . if only that damned fool would have left it alone. Why couldn't he allow nature to be as it was meant to be? Bagheera shook his head. What a pitiful death. He shimmied his shoulders before dropping from his perch, walking slow and quiet towards the dead tiger.

Bagheera crept closer, wary to be near. How strange that Shere Khan hasn't begun to stink of death yet. It's been days . . .

Despite him being badly weathered, Shere Khan's size alone put the panther on guard. Bagheera sniffed around him, then got even closer. His muzzle inched a touch away from the tiger's wound . . . the gunshot ripped straight through the tiger's hide. And yet, Bagheera couldn't fathom why . . . the blood smelt fresh?

Bagheera backed away and moved to look at Shere Khan's face.

One lone yellow eye stared directly at him—and reality explosively shattered around the panther.

Bagheera leapt away, hackles high on his back, claws erected.

Shere Khan gazed at him without moving, his eyes so violently gold that Bagheera felt his lips peel back off his fangs in an instinctive snarl. That penetrating stare was incredible. Even injured and helpless as he was, Bagheera got the sense of being the one loomed over instead of the other way around.

But the earth shattering fact was that Shere Khan was not dead, but very much alive.

"Remarkable," Bagheera said low and amazed. He stiffened his hind legs and sat, turning up his nose. "Only you would stubbornly cheat death, Shere Khan."

Shere Khan's dry mouth moved, but no words came. Still too weak then. The eye on Bagheera still brightened like sun beams through a canopy. Some tiny trembles raked through the tiger's body in his pitiful attempt to move. He achieved very little.

"You shouldn't move," Bagheera said. He could swear he saw that eye turn into a defiant glare. And he was quite right when the tiger tried once more to shift onto his stomach. The panther sighed, annoyed. "Fine, suit yourself. See how far it gets you."

And just to move a point, Bagheera settled right where he was, crossing his paws beneath his chin. His stance revealed no fear, no worry. That should provide plenty of definition to how much of a weakling the tiger has become. If the message wasn't comprehended then, well, Bagheera couldn't really help that. But Shere Khan continued to try, occasionally wringing forth an agonizing grunt for his efforts.

Bagheera simply stared, stomach twisting strangely at the display. The proud tiger was no better than a newborn cub, like someone's broken every bone in his legs, leaving behind a crumpled lump. It rained home for Bagheera how much he admired the tiger's strength and tenacity. He wore it well. This phantom of the tiger's former self was pathetic.

Bagheera noticed Shere Khan's leg twitch unable to properly straighten. No doubt caused from the wound's strain in his side. That must hurt. Bagheera could tell that much from where he was. He shook his head and laid it back on his paws. He didn't understand why he was still here. He'd seen for himself that the tiger was stuck in the throes between life and death.

But the panther has his answer.

Shere Khan isn't dead.

Not dead yet, but he will be. The vultures will be upon him soon. Knowing this, Bagheera huffs and stands, shaking off the grass bits from his fur. He gazes at Shere Khan a long time, especially that yellow eye following his every movement. It lit upon seeing Bagheera walk out of his line of vision and with something Bagheera couldn't recognize.

Fear? A plea? No of course not.

"May you find peace in crossing over, Shere Khan. Perhaps then you'll find the void impossible to fill here."

The panther left the clearing, climbing into a tree and prepared to leave. He chanced a look over his shoulder. Shere Khan no longer moved. Bagheera's lips pressed firmly together, paws hesitantly lifting as he walked away. Each branch felt lighter than the last the further he traveled away from the clearing.

When he could no longer see the tiger, a heavy weight pressed on Bagheera's chest. He didn't know why it was there, nor would he pay it any mind. He knew this feeling.

Guilt.

But this was a burden he refused to carry. This was Shere Khan's fault. Now, he has to atone for his mistakes. This . . . this isn't Bagheera's problem.

* * *

Two days go on, making a total of four since Shere Khan's incident.

Bagheera hasn't been near the clearing since and hoped to keep fighting the urge to return. He couldn't figure out the lure that kept his head looking towards the west; the exact direction where that blasted tiger was. It unnerved the panther to no end how anxious he's been lately.

Restless, even. For goodness sake, he has every right to ignore the tiger. It was no concern of his. None.

And yet . . .

Bagheera quietly sighed as he found himself tracking the setting sun. He would hardly get any sleep tonight, what with such a full mind and an empty stomach. A good hunt should do him fine. With stalking on his mind, he could move past wondering if this sunset or the next would be Shere Khan's end.

The jungle's good and bountiful with game. The herbivores were so caught up in their hullabaloo about one down predator that they neglected to remember the others. Before Bagheera worked his way down from his perch, the smell of deer, rabbit and foul fills his nostrils. A deer would take more strength to knock down, but would guarantee him a good meal for days. A rabbit or bird would be easier to catch and last until the day after tomorrow.

Bagheera sniffs his surroundings for the closest target, settling for the rabbits. The deer will be around to catch another time. He makes haste going towards the prey, steering clear of twigs and dead leaves. It isn't long before he spots a pair of them nibbling on the grass in a small field. Their heads are bowed, blissfully below wind.

The chase is short. Bagheera manages to catch the larger of the rabbits before they dive into their burrow. The other, he waited patiently to check for safety. It eased flat to the ground, sniffing for a threat. The instant, its guard dropped, Bagheera pounced. The panther's slightly breathless from his chase, but the exercise was well worth the distraction. He felt much better.

. . . Until he got a true gander of his surroundings and with baited breath realized he'd wandered not far from where Shere Khan was. If he's still there. Bagheera swallows thickly at the idea. Surely the vultures would have picked his bones clean by now.

Bagheera rids the disgusting thought from his mind and gathers his catches before leaping up into a tree. The smaller rabbit's hung between a parted branch and the other, Bagheera starts to nibble off the hairs around its backside. The fur's spat to the side and when properly cleaned, Bagheera sinks his fangs through the flesh, tearing away ribbons of meat and bone. His front paws hold the red strips coating sweet blood he looked forward to licking away.

It was while he polished off his first meal when the foul odor of blood and old flesh whiff up to his high perch. The winds carried waves of it up to Bagheera so vile, he had to hold back the urge to regurgitate his meal. He thought to move away, to escape its suffocating effect, but an underlying scent changed his mind.

His eyes widen with realization and before he knew it, Bagheera was galloping to the very spot he'd avoided for days. He pumped his paws with fiery determination, knowing full well what he'd find. The injustice of it all.

Those damned vultures knew the law of the jungle and choose to be petty.

Bagheera leapt into the clearing, charging full force, His attack was silent. None of the birds saw him coming until he collided full bodied into all of them. The birds scattered in a heap of startled squawks and feathers, flapping their massive wings to get them airborne from the threat. Bagheera swapped his paw violently at those who moved too slow and snapped the neck of another. With them removed, he backed towards Shere Khan's body until his back paws pressed into the tiger's belly.

The birds glared. "What's gotten into you, panther?" One of them demands. "All downed predators become our prey. You know the law!"

"Predators only become your meal after they've died. As you can clearly see, the tiger hasn't quite reached that stage yet." Bagheera checked around, and sure enough, the very faint outline of Shere Khan's body rose and fell. "He's still alive."

"What difference does it make, whether he's near death or will die? The results will all end the same!" Another crowed, thrashing in the trees. The ruckus stirs a reaction from the others and they're all cawing, screeching and lashing the air with their wings.

Bagheera stomps his paw and roars. "Be gone with you!"

The vultures bolt into the sky from the stomach-deep terror it brought, but not without shooting dark glances at the panther. Bagheera snarls a final time and snorts before turning around to examine the damage made to Shere Khan. He sniffed, searching for the source of that smell and grimaced upon seeing the bullet wound. It's infected.

Bagheera looked mournfully at the tiger's head, then the hole in his side and sighed aloud. Those mangy cretins had picked and tore at the bullet wound, but Bagheera had arrived in time before too much harm could be done. But now the bullet wound needed to be tended to.

Bagheera couldn't believe what he was about to do. The heavens help him.

"I know you can hear me, Shere Khan. You may not like what I have to do, but it'll either save you or prolong your life a little longer." Bagheera moved towards the wound, pressing his nose directly on it.

Shere Khan's hind leg flinched. And it probably took tremendous effort to make that happen. It must hurt beyond anything the tiger's ever experienced. Bagheera presses the heel of his paw into Shere Khan's thigh and the other on the edge of the wound.

"You're going to have to trust me," the panther murmured, closed his eyes, swallowed and dug his long toe inside.

Shere Khan's entire body lunged, jaws agape in a long, dying groan. Bagheera strengthens his fold and keeps going, searching blindly for the bullet he knew was still there. Nothing, he couldn't feel it anywhere. He twisted this way, wiggled it around, with no—

"There!" Bagheera whispered triumphantly. His middle digit curled around the foreign bit and slowed his movements to withdraw it.

But he couldn't pull it through the opening. Between his coiled digit and the bullet itself, they were much too wide to pull back. Bagheera didn't give up. Not when he's so close. He carefully unhooked the bullet, and sprawl his paws on Shere Khan's hefty side.

Bagheera's muzzle pressed flat to the wound, and he carefully opened and closed his jaws in a suction like huff, tasting infected flesh and blood. He remembers seeing a human do this once for a comrade when he'd been bitten by a cobra. The same could apply here.

The bullet soared into the bed of his tongue and he made quick work of it, spitting it to the side and shook his head, splashing blood droplets on the grass. Bagheera checked Shere Khan's condition and saw his breathing increased, coming in short, fast puffs. Fresh, bright blood oozed from where the bullet was and it was a relieving sight. As were the minutely twitches in Shere Khan's limbs.

Bagheera liked to think he did a good thing, but goodness knows this deed may come back to haunt him. But he doesn't dwell on that. He shakes off his fur, feeling sticky around his crown and paws. Tiger's and rabbit's blood were drying on his fur. Not an attractive appearance for a panther.

He starts to clean himself.

The slap against his backside catches him so guard, he yelps like a kicked kitten. Bagheera scans around himself for the source, and stares bewildered at the striped tail dancing by his hind quarters. Bagheera jumps up and away. His eyes go straight to Shere Khan's head to find the same dull glow in those golden eyes.

Bagheera creeps closer, unsure what to make of that. Had the tiger did that on purpose or was it involuntary? It was a shot in the dark, but . . . he wondered.

"Shere Khan?"

No movement. Bagheera thinks a moment, then asks.

"I know this will be beneath you, but humor me. Do you think you can use your tail to answer?"

Some time goes by before a little curl is made at the tip of Shere Khan's tail.

"Are you in pain?"

It slaps against the ground, really hard. Bagheera rolls his eyes. Even on the verge of death, Shere Khan's arrogance knows no bounds.

"That'll pass with time." Bagheera closes his mouth before he asks his next question. That much was plainly obvious. "I imagine you're hungry. . . I could fetch you something. A rabbit I captured earlier. I doubt you'll be able to eat much more than that anyway."

Shere Khan's tail slams against the ground.

Bagheera's mouth tightens. "You'll either make do or starve. You don't exactly have the luxury of ordering me about. Not that you had that privilege to begin with." Bagheera rises, making sure to show his face as he walks pass. "Try not to get eaten until I return. Think you can manage that?"

The pupil dilated to a thin slit. Bagheera's secretly gratified at the reaction and chuckles. He'll probably pay for that later. He's amused during his short trip to the rabbit and back. To his astonishment, Shere Khan's shifted most of his body at an angle where his belly was no longer up. The odd angle wasn't any less submissive, but to each his own. Bagheera came forward and dropped the rabbit next to the tiger's mouth.

"Eat it or not, it's up to you," Bagheera says. "But I advise you to put aside your bias tastes and get your strength back. You'll be back to terrorizing deer and ox before this jungle knows it."

Bagheera takes to the tree he used before and lays down to observe from afar. Shere Khan doesn't show any indication of wanting the food. But the panther knew he had to be hunger. A tiger his size needs to eat about twenty of those rabbits in one sitting to sustain him a few days.

Some moments pass and still nothing. Bagheera becomes irritated. Why wasn't the fool eating? Surely he can't be so against eating a rabbit that he'd rather starve?

Bagheera growls as he hops down to the ground and goes over to demand an answer. Shere Khan's nostrils flare at the scent of him and his tail reacts. The tiger shakily moves his head to push his nose against the rabbit's belly and huffs.

Oh.

Now Bagheera understood.

He props himself directly in front of the tiger before pulling the rabbit between his paws. Shere Khan can't eat it, not because he doesn't want to. He isn't able to.

Bagheera's penetrating gaze slid to Shere Khan's prone form and lingers. Silently furious that he was reduced to acting as a sitter for this obnoxious, egotistical tiger, Bagheera takes a mouthful of the rabbit and thoroughly chews. The meat is swallowed and the same processed repeated over and over until only clumps of fur and bone remained.

Then he flexes his belly to coax the meat back into his mouth. He holds it there as he maneuvers Shere Khan's head around, tipping his face up, easing his jaw open and pressing his lips to the tiger's. Bagheera uses his tongue to push the mush into the mouth under his, using his clawed digits to massage the tiger's throat enough that the mush was swallowed. It was painstaking, debasing work, but eventually Shere Khan had taken more than he'd need into his system.

Shere Khan's mouth took painstakingly slow winds until it was all gone.

Bagheera swooned dizzily from the lightheaded effects from heaving up his food. He rubbed a paw under his chin to get rid of the excess meat and felt his lip curl. Of all of the most degrading things he could have ever done in his life, this certainly tops them all.

"I swear to the heavens, Shere Khan. You'd have better live after this or so help I'll kill you myself." Bagheera huffs indignantly and walks away with his head high, unknowingly missing the smug grin stretch across the tiger's muzzle.

* * *

It wasn't long before his travels between patrolling his territory and going to care for Shere Khan became routine for Bagheera. The additional hunting has made him stronger and gave him practice on his stealth. Little by little he notice the clear signs of Shere Khan's recovery. His strength returned piece by piece.

Instead of keeping his distance the way he wisely told himself he would, Bagheera stayed near the tiger and spoke to him about the happenings in the jungle. How they'd reach that point will forever evade Bagheera's understanding, but he blamed it on his lack of common sense. Goodness knows a good chunk of it is missing in action.

One night, Bagheera was extremely restless. He tossed and repositioned himself on his branch for hours, unable to find a comfortable placement. The night was uncomfortably cold. Most creatures have found shelter in the shallowed holes in trees, burrows or caves. He had several caves nearby he could go to, but not without checking on that idiot tiger. Bagheera would never forgive himself if he left Shere Khan to the elements.

The winds were unforgivably strong in the clearing. Bagheera shivered, rolling his shoulders to knock off the chill in his bones. The grass rustled one way to the force of the gusts. Bagheera concentrated on sniffing out Shere Khan. When Bagheera finds him, his chest tightens at the sight of Shere Khan curled tight into himself, shaking violently.

When Bagheera makes it to him, he gently lays a paw on the tiger's quaking shoulders. Glazed golden eyes flickered at him in the dark, recognition dousing them in a deep fiery glow. That sight put a new ray of pride inside the panther. No matter what the outcome was from this, he could never regret having helped Shere Khan. Choosing to do so was the right thing.

"Easy there, Khan. It's me," Bagheera says pointlessly as if the tiger hadn't sniffed him out already. "Come on, we'll . . . we'll have to figure out a way to warm you. Hopefully soon," he says while helplessly scanning around for an answer. Shere Khan was too heavy to carry. Bagheera would sooner collapse from exhaustion before they reached his nearest cave.

A particularly long groan emits from the tiger's lips.

"I know it's cold. A pity you can't walk yet. I'll figure out something. I have to. What good would it do for all my effort to be wasted if you died from a little chill in the air?"

Shere Khan's eyes zeroed in on Bagheera and in a strangled blow, his lips soundlessly moved. The panther inched closer to hear, but he couldn't make out a single word.

"Khan, try to speak up, I can't hear— _hmmph_!" Bagheera's breath was pushed out of his lungs as surprisingly powerful arms thrust out and yanked him down, slamming him bodily into the freezing tiger. At the first shocking touch of his icy body the panther thought maybe Shere Khan was trying to kill him. Then a large face was pushed into the crook of his shoulder, shaking paws dive under Bagheera's belly. In slow dawning, the panther understood. Shere Khan was cold.

Well then.

"Erm, there, there, Khan," Bagheera said, shocked. Bagheera draped his upper torso over as much of Shere Khan as he could. "I've got you. You needn't worry."

"I-i-idiot panther," Shere Khan managed through chattering fangs, voice cold against Bagheera's throat. "Y-y-you're doing t-t-to much for little in ret-t-turn—" The tiger stammers off with a strangled gasp, pushing his face roughly against Bagheera's neck. Stuffing his paws and tail as far under Bagheera as he could to leech off his warmth.

Talking and cold. Trust this fool to keep Bagheera amazed at the simplest abilities. But at what he said, to be doing so much for little in return? What did Shere Khan think Bagheera wanted for helping him? Was kindness so nonexistent in his life that someone helping him could only mean being compensated? How ignorant.

"Unlike you, I don't need payment to help those in need," Bagheera sneered above Shere Khan's head. "Don't expect me to want a favor. Despite this jungle's popular opinion about you, I found you dying disturbed me too much. Now hush. I preferred you silent and helpless." But this was good news. If he can talk, perhaps he can do more. "Shere Khan, do you think you can stand?"

Bagheera pushes at the weight on his neck and makes to stand, shouldering some of Shere Khan's body. The panther discovers that the tiger has the strength, but he doesn't budge. He lays on the ground, facing away and resists again when Bagheera tries to lift him by the head.

"Y-you've done more tha-a-an enough," Shere Khan's deep voice rasps, the effort to speak sounding ever so excruciating for him. "D-doubtless anyone will a-a-appreciate your bringing me back from death. L-l-leave me here. S-s-save an ounce of y-your signif-f-ficance in this jungle . . . or have m-m-mercy on my dignity."

Stunned, Bagheera stared down at the top of Shere Khan's crown, trying to absorb what's being asked of him.

"I won't on neither count, Shere Khan," the panther said immediately. "What would that say about my honor, if I couldn't put aside my difference of opinion of an enemy in need? We'll worry about survival after rebuilding your dignity. Which you won't have much of if you don't walk. Or suffer me dragging you across half the jungle by the tail for the entire populace to see."

For one helpless moment Shere Khan doesn't move, and Bagheera wonders if he was just too cold to save himself now. But then his head slowly lifts out of Bagheera's shoulder and he caught a glimpse of a single brilliant golden eye narrowed at him, and the panther chuckles in sheer relief.

"There's that overwhelming bravado. No one wears it better," he told the tiger, so heartened by the life still burning in his gaze that Bagheera licks him between the ears. "Now you have to live long enough to hunt me down for that."

Hunkering down low, Bagheera surges strength into the heel of his paws to hoist Shere Khan on his paws. And what monstrous effort that took. The tiger was heavier than his skinny appearance put on. Bagheera leaned into the tiger to balance his stance. Shere Khan wobbled on his feet, but that pride of his refused to let him fall again. He straightened on weak legs, eyes squeezed shut at the exertion.

The first paw went forward, the second coming at a slower rate. The third and fourth followed suit and Bagheera was right at his side to keep Shere Khan anchored on his feet. It was a taxing journey, trekking through the cold at such a slow pace, but Bagheera remained steadfast by Shere Khan's side. He never made a sound, though the agony to walk on his own was prominent on the tiger's face.

The cave they arrive to isn't the most glamorous setting, but any rocky wall would do to block out the winds. Bagheera guided Shere Khan as far into the cave as the tiger could muster. Thick, lush moss covered the latter half of the cave and that's where the tiger lowered himself in a noisy heap, falling sound asleep without a word.

Bagheera considered where he'd lay, thought a moment, and then shook his head at the notion. It's his cave. He'll sleep wherever he wished. He came in, circled in place and propped himself down in front of Shere Khan to barricade him from the loose winds that fell through the cave's opening. By morning, well, they could figure out what happens from here.

Bagheera lowered his head on his paws and let the night's breezes and natural sounds lure him to sleep.

* * *

Sunlight bathe the inside of the cave. Bagheera's slumber was disturbed by strong light sinking through his eyelids. His eyes sleepily blink open, waiting for the world's blurriness to blend into itself. The first sign something off was when he saw how far onto his mossy bedding that he'd become and where he was currently residing was where a certain tiger should have been.

Bagheera rose up, languidly flexing his spine. He shakes off the drowsiness and sniffs at his bedding. The scent's still fresh. Bagheera looks towards the mouth of the cave.

Shere Khan stood in the center, basking in the early morning warmth like it was meant for no other, but himself. The color in his fur seemed to rising to the surface and the once ruffled appearance seemed smoothed over, licked clean. So, he was back to his old self? How would that vote for Bagheera now? The tiger may not be up to full strength, but he was still formidable.

Knowing this, Bagheera still gambles closing in, purposely bumping pebbles and stones to alert the tiger to his approach. Cool, piercing gold eyes slid his way and the downward slump on Shere Khan's lips showed that he was indeed returning to himself by the slowest degrees.

How ironic was it that seeing this expression saddened Bagheera a little. He knew that once Shere Khan healed entirely, the gracious creature that was so dependent on his help would disappear. Statures will be reestablished and things will go back to the way they were.

Still, Bagheera will never forget what it felt like to be needed by Shere Khan for however short a time it was. Not for as long as he lived.

Bagheera cleared his throat as he came to cautiously take a sit right alongside Shere Khan, sharing his view of the sunrise.

"You're looking well," he comments.

"In time I'll feel as good as I look," Shere Khan said with crystal clear regality. "But as you know, good health doesn't come over night."

"No, I imagine it doesn't."

Silence follows, a comfortable tension between them. Then Bagheera asks the question drifting in his mind.

"What will you do now?"

"Lay low I suppose," Shere Khan gives a throaty chuckle. "No sense in crushing the dreams of so many all at once. After all, they want me gone. Save for one?"

Bagheera nods at the lingering inquiry, unsure how to quite answer it to the tiger's face. "I'm still trying to figure out why I helped you myself."

Shere Khan hums at that and falls into another quiet moment. His tail lazily rolls and folds behind him.

"Thank you, Bagheera."

Bagheera shifts and stares up at him. The gold in Shere Khan's eyes reflect so much sunlight, they looked polished. He sat motionless, stunned mute. To think he would ever see the day. Shere Khan showing gratitude.

The panther return to gazing out at the sun. "You're welcome," he says simply. Tipping his head back, he let the sun's rays coat over his chest, letting all of last night's chill leave him in a rush. It was wonderful. He felt incredible.

So much so that that the feel of Shere Khan's paw looping around his back didn't nearly terrify him as much as feeling the ruthless tiger's flat tongue sweep in a single, long lap between his ears. He was pulled beneath Shere Khan's front paws and despite his struggles, the tiger's hold was firm, solid.

Bagheera yowled as another wet stroke traced over his ear and trailed down the back of his neck.

"Sh-shere Khan-gah! What is the meaning of this?" Bagheera demanded, shoving a paw in the tiger's face and twisting to free himself.

Shere Khan boringly knocked the paw aside and returned to his task. "Be still, will you? You're making this more difficult than it should be."

"I'm perfectly capable of bathing myself!"

Shere Khan has the audacity to glare. "Your appearance offends me." Another warm lick slides under the panther's chin, then over the corner of his jaws. "Humor me, Bagheera, won't you? Your fur looks quite drab this morning."

"Everything about me offends you!" Bagheera snaps. "I'd have to be licked from tip to whisker to satisfy your standards!"

Shere Khan snorts. "I'm tempted to do just that—blast it, quit that squirming. Don't make me restrain you, panther. Wounded I may be, but not entirely incapacitated. I can still bite."

Bagheera stiffens at that. No time is wasted in the span of him calming down or Shere Khan continuing what he started. He keeps at it, leaving long laves all over Bagheera's neck and head. He concentrates most of his attention near Bagheera's jawline and the base of his throat. It's sort of soothing and if Bagheera could overlook the fact that this was Shere Khan grooming him, he would loosen up.

"You'd enjoy this more if you'd relax."

"Not a chance. If I did," he began, his jaw cracking on a sudden yawn, "what would I wake up to? Your jaws wrapped around my throat, my belly being clawed open?" Even to him, his voice was sounding drowsy. His eyes slid closed of their own accord.

"What sense would it make for me to clean my prey," Shere Khan murmurs, running his tongue in steeper areas on Bagheera's backside. "And what reason would I have to kill you, Bagheera? I'd sooner chew off my own tail first." The last of his sentence is tampered off by the drag of his tongue gliding over Bagheera's neck again.

A sound is aroused whenever Shere Khan touched that space, a guttural mewl that sounded severely pleasant to the ears. Shere Khan repeated it over and over, earning the same reaction. Bagheera's semiconsciously aware of the noise coming from the pit of his belly, but this feels too amazing to stop. He hadn't been groomed by another in so very long . . . it felt heavenly.

"I advise you to stop making that sound, Bagheera," the panther hears the tiger whisper huskily through a long, dazed tunnel. "I can't promise I won't react in a less than appropriate manner."

Through his sluggish subconscious, Bagheera knows the tiger's speaking, but whatever he's saying can't be so important to stop his grooming. His tongue's reached new delightful levels. The panther stretches out his body to the length of Shere Khan's body and contently sighs. His ears were being cleaned now, his most sensitive spot. His hind leg threatened to kick out and buckle, the feeling felt so good.

In the cloudy mist in his mind, Bagheera's vaguely aware of being rolled onto his belly. His front paws folded under his chin where he proceeded to lay his head. But all of that oblivious awareness to the outside world evaporates like the morning mist when a pressure heavily straddles his back.

His claws erect and one look reveals Shere Khan on his back. Bagheera panics, snarling, scratching and squirming and his ears folded against his skull, outraged.

"Shere Khan!" he growled. "What madness are you—"

"Be quiet. I told you, I don't want to hurt you . . . far from it really."

"Then what . . ." The scuff on the back of his neck is nibbled and carefully licked. Bagheera bites back a whine. Why . . . he's never felt . . . just what was Shere Khan doing? "Khan, what—"

"Shh, let me."

Bagheera mewls throatily, squirming under the moist ministrations at his neck. What sort of grooming routine was this? Something only tigers could fathom?

Something wet, blunt and thick nudges beneath his tail. Bagheera freezes and makes to turn, but Shere Khan's front paws keep him locked flat to the ground. The nudging keeps probing, testing the integrity of his—dear heavens!

"Shere Khan, no!"

"What's the matter, Bagheera?" the tiger smoothly leans forward until his head nuzzles against the panther's own. "Afraid?" A dark chuckle. "Live a little."

"You're mad. We—we mustn't. It's not natural . . . we're males."

"And perfectly healthy specimens at that," Shere Khan adds, sensually curling his long appendage beneath Bagheera's chin and clutches him tight to his chest. "I see no harm," he whispers.

Gentle rolls of Shere Khan's tail tease at Bagheera's, a small distraction from the dozens of sensations roiling in the panther's body. But above all, the scent of fear and the slightest minute smell of what the tiger would never have associated with Bagheera before: a musky sweetness.

And it scorched Shere Khan's nostrils like sun baked nectar.

"I'll give you a moment to contemplate what's about to happen, Bagheera."

That hard, yet silky tip pressed against the entrance to his body and Bagheera stiffens involuntarily, claws digging through the soft dirt. A moment? He needn't that long to know what's to come.

"I'm not going to exert dominance. I've no need to do such a thing. You already know who your better is . . . but _I will_ have you if so to satisfy an age old curiosity. And there's no greater an opportunity then the one presented to me this day."

"I saved your life!" Bagheera states frantically. "And this is how you show your gratitude?"

"Indeed it is . . . and good show on that."

Shere Khan began to slowly enter him, a half-inch at a time, pulling back by millimeters with each advance he made, before going deeper. Bagheera gasped, muscles instantly taunt, unable to breathe. This was a brand new sensation, one he's never known his entire life and hoped to never experience again, for it hurt. It didn't matter that Shere Khan was gracious enough to be gentle as possible, it still burned and stretched. Horrified that he may lose control of his bowels, and feeling his body concentrate on that single point of agony, Bagheera clamped his fangs together, hard.

When at long last, there came an end to the movement, Shere Khan's underbelly was perfectly aligned to Bagheera's back. "It'll get better," he spoke through a voice strained with the struggle of keeping still. "Trust me."

"I was foolish enough to believe I could. Damn you!" Bagheera managed through his fangs.

"It'll only worsen if you don't relax," Shere Khan said. "Trust me," he repeated slowly, flexing his hind legs and licks the whole of Bagheera's neck. "Trust me."

Bagheera exhales and inhales slowly and bit by bit, the tightness at his back end loosens. The pain lessens a good deal, but the discomfort of being filled remained. He raised his head off the ground, casting a dark, submissive look over his shoulder. But nonetheless, Shere Khan recognized his consent.

Then Shere Khan began to thrust and it brought a whole new wave of pain flaring for the panther who buried his muzzle into his front paws to stifle his grunts. The pace gradually picks up speed. Bagheera felt himself taking it better as his body rocked to the tiger's thrusts. His voice betrayed him as more and more he became entranced by the heat inside him and the unnatural pleasure it brought with it.

His pain filled grunts began to morph into throaty bellows. He closes his eyes at the intensity. Never would he have imagined there would be any pleasure from this.

"Good Bagheera, good," Shere Khan huskily praised and squeezed him tighter. "Keep it just like this . . . you feel so utterly perfect." His thrusts came for freely until he was growling into Bagheera's neck, matching the rumbles coming from his partner.

They were so wrapped up in their passion that the moment of completion shock the very ground beneath their paws and Shere Khan bit down on Bagheera's neck to hold on during his orgasm's savagery. Bagheera howled, claws erected from the dull barbs expanding in his rectum. He twisted and clawed at Shere Khan to bat him away and the tiger immediately retracted his penis, distancing himself.

Bagheera rolled his side, panting and body twitching as it settled. He could barely move. Every part of him hummed with pleasure. In all of his years, who'd have thought he would be so pleasantly numb from a bout with a tiger. A male tiger.

Shere Khan of all creatures.

He squirmed to angle his head around to find Shere Khan licking at himself, cleaning off the excess seed and the panther strangely chuckled at the sight. Bagheera pushed some strength beneath himself and brought up his upper torso to reach around and clean himself as well. A bone deep ached developed towards his rear end and he supposed it came with the territory.

Heavy steps came near. Bagheera turned around to see Shere Khan approaching him, face neutral, void of any emotions. He came to stand directly in front of the panther, turned up his nose and the tiniest smirk spread across his muzzle. The expression contagiously spread to Bagheera.

"Well . . . that was oddly unexpected . . .but an age old curiosity you said before?" he questioned after a moment of silence. "What sort of curiosity?"

Shere Khan chortled deeply. "You're not that naïve, Bagheera. If you haven't figured it out by now, you're much slower than originally assumed." He snorts and curls his stripped tail beneath Bagheera's chin. "But that's neither here nor there. I've gotten what I wanted and ensured you did as well."

Shere Khan walks past, leaving the cave. Leaving Bagheera.

"For all you've done for me, and helping me fulfill a private desire . . . I thank you, Bagheera."

Bagheera looked away, feeling oddly disturbed by how final that sounded. And listening to Shere Khan's steps quietly vanish. In a hurried turn, he discovers Shere Khan about to disappear in the brush.

"Shere Khan," he called out louder than he meant to.

The tiger pauses, but doesn't turn around.

Bagheera flinches as he comes to the mouth of his cave and stops himself short of running towards the tiger. "What . . . what happens now?"

A moment passes before Shere Khan's deep voice purrs through the brush. "I reestablish my dominance, mark over my territory . . . and eventually cross paths with a perspicacious panther who can't seem to mind his own business."

No treasure in the world could compare to how warming it was to hear that.

"Perhaps in the near future," he whispers. Bagheera will never admit it and promised to carry it to his grave . . . but he savored the idea when they would cross paths again. Perhaps not tomorrow, or not another full moon, but the day will soon come. Bagheera smiled at the empty space where the tiger had been before going back inside his cave to rest.

As sure as Shere Khan was a dastardly tyrant, he was a tiger of his word. Whatever this was that happened . . . he looked forward to seeing what else came of it.

* * *

 **^_^ ~The End~ ^_^**

 **TBC: Thank you all to everyone who have given this one-shot a chance. It feels really good to finally write THE END to a finished story. And it's nice to stretch my old writing finger. Hopefully this provides me with the practice I need to finish my other stories. Thanks for reading!**


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